


We Muddle Through Somehow

by Friedcheesemogu



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas grumpiness, Established Relationship, Gift of the Magi AU, M/M, Modern AU, The magic of working in retail during the holidays, mentioned Erwin Smith/Levi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:51:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5512895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Friedcheesemogu/pseuds/Friedcheesemogu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A "Gift of the Magi" AU for Cobalt_bleu. The original story by O. Henry can be found <a href="http://www.online-literature.com/o_henry/1014/">here.</a>  </p>
<p>After three years of general Christmas Bah-Humbuggery and substandard gift giving, Jean is finally going to step up his game and get Marco the thing he wants the most. It's just a little harder than he anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Muddle Through Somehow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cobalt_Bleu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cobalt_Bleu/gifts).



> Hello Cobalt, I am your Secret Santa, or Secret Winter Holiday Gift Exchange person. Your prompt is a tough one, and I couldn't resist throwing in a few of my own headcanons, but I hope it at least kind of comes close to what you asked for. <3

Christmas is kind of the worst, though. 

 

Jean Kirchstein is not one to believe the hype or get really into anything.

Especially not a holiday that’s essentially two months of extreme shopping before one day where people pat themselves on the back and talk about how in the end it’s all about “love and family and being good to your fellow asshole” or whatever. Getting presents for no reason was cool when he was a kid, but the novelty wore off around age 12 or so, and whatever warm fuzzies that were left behind have long since been erased by several years of working in retail. 

 

It is a little funny, Jean thinks sometimes, that for all he doesn’t give a flying fuck about Christmas, he chose a post-graduate profession right on the front lines of capitalism. But money is money, and he’s a grown man now and Mom can’t pay for everything. So if it means swallowing godawful music and gaudy decorations from 12:01 am on November 1st to the New Year, he’ll suck it up even if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Besides, sales commissions can be awesome when people are trying to prove how much they love one another by buying crap. At the very least it usually means he can buy his mom something nice from the women’s designer section and have some money left over for himself. 

 

This generally boils down to Christmas being a big giant “who cares” for Jean. It’s a waste of time and resources and a spectacle of excess and enforced cheer.

 

Unfortunately, Marco Bodt loves Christmas. He loves lights and candy canes and the whole idea of special gifts for special people, thoughtfully purchased and wrapped with precision to the point where opening them is almost a crime.

 

And Jean Kirchstein loves Marco Bodt. 

 

So there's that. 

 

-

 

“I swear to god,” Jean grumbles over his bowl of sesame noodles, “I heard two different renditions of ‘Winter Wonderland’ in less than half an hour and both of them made me want to commit felonies.”

 

He, Sasha, and Armin meet for lunch as often as their schedules allow it. Jean’s Macy’s and Sasha’s Sur La Table are in the shopping center a block away from Armin’s bank. Armin usually brings his lunch, and Jean doesn’t care enough to make decisions, so where they go is usually left up to Sasha, but she’s rarely steered them wrong. They tend to stay generally nearby their collective jobs, which means there’s often a lot of overlap —with this place, Dumpling Haus, as kind of a “restaurant zero”—  but Jean loves these fucking noodles, so he won’t complain (at least not about that).

 

“You think you have it bad,” Sasha is already halfway through her second bao, “I think I could sing ‘Hava Nagilah’ in my sleep at this point.”

 

“You have to give Levi points for contrast, right?” Armin holds his sandwich in one hand and scans his phone with the other. “It definitely makes your store stand out.”

 

“Yeah, nothing says ‘do the shopping for the cook on your list’ like a store whose manager aggressively plays klezmer music for the entirety of December.”

 

Jean snickers. “And yet you keep working for him.”

 

“Dude, the Chanukah cookies he brought in? Worth every minute of Yid Vicious.” Her eyes sparkle a little. “That man is a dessert virtuoso, I would love to see what goes on in his kitchen.”

 

“Mm,” Armin is tapping out a text with one thumb, “Hopefully it’s nothing like what goes occasionally goes on in Erwin’s office after hours.”

 

“Whatever, man.” Sasha shakes her head. “If I was Levi, and I had access to both a Sub-Zero refrigerator and a golden god like that, I’d use both of them until the warranty was completely destroyed.”

 

“I’m gonna tell Connie.” Jean flicks a stray bit of bao that’s landed on his side of the table at her. 

 

“Yeah, like that’s a threat.” She rolls her eyes. “Connie has a bigger boner for Armin’s boss than me. Come on, Jean, everyone is Erwin Smith-sexual, even you, just a little.”

 

Jean snorts and goes back to his noodles, and Armin sets down his phone with a soft smile. “It’s pretty true, though. And he’s a great man to work for.”

 

“Beauty, brains, and a tiny little angry husband." Sasha sighs happily. "He’s a triple threat.”

 

“Meh.” Jean offers articulately, reaching for his soda. 

 

“Right right, you only have eyes for Marco.” Sasha bats her eyelashes at him. “Have you thanked me for introducing the two of you lately?”

 

“Sasha, it’s been three years.”

 

She pouts. “I like being thanked.”

 

“Speaking of Marco,..” Armin turns to Jean and raises an eyebrow. “How’s he doing with the holiday rush?”

 

Jean takes a long pull of his soda and shrugs. “You know, great. He loves Christmas, and he’s a great salesman. Sometimes I wish they worked on commission over there because I think he’d be making like ten times more right now.”

 

“Do you know what you’re getting him for Christmas?” Sasha casually reaches for one of Jean’s still-untouched bao. She yelps when he smacks her hand away deftly, and with maybe a little more force than necessary. “I’m guessing that’s a no.”

 

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of a bullshit consumer holiday that I’m not into, so it’s whatever.” he mutters, but she sees right through him. 

  
  


“Oh Jean.” Sasha gives him a sympathetic look. “You really don’t know what to get him?”

 

“You know I suck at giving gifts, okay.” he mutters, trying not to flush in embarrassment. 

 

Because it’s true —on top of his blase feelings about the holiday, Jean is simply shitty when it comes to presents. And if he’s honest with himself, it’s one of the reasons he really doesn’t care for Christmas: that once a year it highlights to his boyfriend how incredibly…well, thoughtless he is. He hates the idea of getting Marco a lackluster gift and disappointing him, and yet he’s never figured out how to not just wing something at the last minute. He’s managed to get by on dinners at nice restaurants, sex, and a pair of cufflinks that belonged to his grandfather, and Marco has been kind and accepting and never done anything to indicate he’s other than grateful for Jean’s meager efforts.

 

But this is three years now. He should know what the fuck to get his boyfriend for Christmas.

 

“If it’s worth anything,” Armin says in a strange tone, “I may have some information.”

 

Both Jean and Sasha turn to him, and he clears his throat, sitting up a little straighter before looking Jean dead in the eye with the expression that’s made him one on the top personal bankers at his branch.

 

“Yeah?” Jean is wary. Armin and Marco are very good friends, and he’s torn between the idea that Armin might be betraying some confidence and the thought that maybe this Christmas he's being given the chance to not be so pathetic. 

 

“Marco has been talking to me about home loans.”

 

There’s a long pause. 

 

“...Because nothing is the gift that keeps on giving like a mortgage?” Jean ventures.

 

“Oo,” says Sasha, “Maybe Marco wants to become a realtor, and your gift is your acceptance of this drastic career move!”

 

“Um, no.” Armin starts to sweat a little. “It’s not that….”

 

“Are you suggesting I give him books on home investments or something?”

 

“No…” Armin hedges, going for a look that is probably supposed to be hopeful but comes out a little more desperate. 

 

Jean considers him another moment before shaking his head and digging into his bowl for the last of his noodles and raising them to his mouth. “You’re gonna have to spell this out for me, Armin.”

 

“Jean,” Armin says with a sigh, “Marco wants to get a house with you.”

 

Jean chokes.

 

-

 

Three years ago, at a holiday party Sasha hosted with her boyfriend Connie, she’d brought Jean over to meet a high school friend. “You both work with suits,” she’d said, since Jean had just started in the men’s department at Macy’s and Marco worked at Brooks Brothers downtown. “You can talk about finding the perfect inseam or whatever.”

 

Whether it had been innuendo or not, Jean and Marco had indeed ended up not only discussing inseams but exploring each other’s thoroughly. They’ve been together ever since. 

 

Before there was Marco, Jean felt kind of the same way about relationships as he does about Christmas  —it sure is something that's great for other people, but he really could care less. Sex was pretty okay, and it was probably cool to have someone who accepted you for all your weird and horrible personal failings. But it wasn’t really something he cared about. 

 

To be completely honest, he was pretty sure that the greatest love of his life had already happened, and it was a car. 

 

The car is a white 1997 Volvo 850. It’s boxy. It only has a tape player. It’s over half as old as he is. It’s not beautiful or tremendously unique, the mileage isn’t great, and in spite of his love and care it’s starting to show its age in spots of rust near the wheel wells. There’s really nothing about it that merits the intensity of affection that Jean feels for it. 

 

It’s the car he learned to drive, though. It’s the car his mother kept for him in the garage until his sixteenth birthday, and let him take out on quick errands even after he failed his driver’s test twice (he cried both times). It’s the car that took him to college and home and college and home more times than he could count. It’s the car he put everything he could carry into when he finally moved away. 

 

Jean loves that car, okay. 

 

Driving it felt better than the best drunk he’s ever been, easier than breathing. Friends’ cars, rental cars, nothing moved the same way, nothing responded the same way, nothing felt as good and as free and as real on the road as that fucking car.

 

Then he drove that car straight into the night he met Marco. And when, six hours after they met, Marco leaned across the gear shift and kissed him breathless, Jean knew for the first time that his car had met its match in a 24 year old man with freckles and an easy laugh.

 

Marco takes Jean as he is and has never asked for anything better, even though he deserves the whole goddamn world. He’s smart and beautiful, caustically funny when irritated, and prone to deep emotions. He’s fiercely loyal to his friends and his cousin Ymir, he’s an awful cook who should never be let within 20 feet of an oven, and once Jean watched him sell a man a suit with such finesse that Jean nearly came on the spot (he did manage to make it to a bathroom, but only barely). The moment Marco slides into the car when Jean picks him up from work, those seconds where the two best things in his life come together in such a perfect fit —that’s the moment Jean thinks he might actually get out of this life with everything he’s ever wanted.

 

So what if he’s never put that into words to Marco, or told him that the first time he let Marco drive his car was more nerve-wracking and tense and painful than their first fight? When he gave Marco the keys to that fucking Volvo, he had given Marco his beating heart. 

 

Jean is a lot of things —brash, arrogant, self-centered, remarkably good looking for someone who would probably die from bench pressing a box of saltines— but he’s also self-aware enough to know that he’s insecure. That some part of him believes he could lose Marco if he isn’t careful enough, if he doesn’t keep a close eye on himself. Someday, Marco might finally realize that the heart Jean gave him really isn’t much of a gift at all, that Jean isn’t really worth it.

 

But now Jean knows there’s something he can give Marco that’s a thousand times better than a crappy heart that comes with eighteen year old 190 horsepower. And fuck if he isn’t going try his damndest to do it.

 

-

 

“Hey you.” Marco drops into the car and is leaning over to kiss him quickly before Jean can even open his mouth. “How was your day?”

 

“Uh, fine.” Jean tries not to be distracted by the fact that even after working all day, Marco smells so fucking good that he wants to throw the car into park and physically maul him. Instead, he somehow manages to pull back into traffic like a normal human. “It was...you know. Like sixty different versions of ‘Jingle Bells’ in the space of an hour, but I survived.”

 

“No customers were harmed?”

 

“Not today.”

 

“I’m proud of you,” Marco grins, tapping his knuckles absently against the window. “Think you can make it a few more weeks?”

 

“No promises.” _Go for it_ , he tells himself. “So I had lunch with Armin and Sasha.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“He mentioned he spoke to you recently.” Jean keeps his eyes firmly on the road. “He uh...said you asked him about something. Home loans, specifically.”

 

The tapping stops, Marco’s hand frozen in place, and Jean is pretty sure his heart stops too. 

 

“....did he now.”

 

“He did.”

 

Marco nods slowly, stops, then nods again. “Well.”

 

It’s uncomfortably silent for a solid minute before Jean finds his voice again. “Marco, is there something you want to tell me?”

 

Marco takes a deep breath, and out of the corner of his eye, Jean can see him placing a hand on his stomach.

 

“Jean, I’m—”

 

“If you say ‘I’m pregnant,’ I swear to god, Marco—”

 

Marco laughs softly, and the tension is broken a little. “Well damn, there goes that evasion tactic.” He folds his hands in his lap, gazing down at them with a softness that Jean adores, but would prefer was directed to him. “Yeah. I uh….I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. I found this place… it’s not a real house, it’s a condo, really, but… it’s nice. It’s a good location.” He licks his lips. “I think you’d like it.”

 

Jean regrets deciding to have this conversation while driving, because Marco’s little nervous motions are so fucking cute and distracting, but they’re almost home. He can do this. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So what you’re saying is… instead of living in sin in a rental apartment with a kitchen you can barely fit two asses in, you want to buy a place.”

 

“Well, I’d planned to keep living in sin, just in a nicer location.”

 

“With like...ownership benefits. And condo associations and things.”

 

“Basically…yes.” Marco rubs his finger under his nose. “I mean, I really was going to tell you about it, because I can’t cover the down payment on my salary alone so it would have to be...we’d be in it together.”

 

_For the long haul_ , Jean hears what Marco doesn’t say, and he turns onto their street, pulls over, and finally puts the car into park. He squeezes the steering wheel for strength for a moment, then turns to Marco. Because they were sitting in this car when they decided to be a thing, to be two people together, and this is probably the best place to decide to take the next, bigger step too. 

 

“Okay.” Jean turns to Marco. “Show me what you’ve got and we’ll make it happen.”

 

The way Marco smiles makes Jean warm all the way to his toes.

 

The way Marco kisses him burns all the way down to his groin.

 

The way things rapidly devolve fogs up the windows. 

 

It’s not the first time Jean’s wondered if what they do in this car will get them arrested, but it’s so worth it. 

 

-

 

So Marco has been researching this for a while, it turns out. He’s scouted out the prime locations and considered the parking situation, the proximity to their jobs, and Jean’s preference for not living on a ground floor. The place Marco's found is definitely out of their price range except that Marco, being the brilliant and amazing person he is, has a card up his sleeve. Specifically a queen. 

 

Marco and his cousin Ymir are closer than some siblings Jean has known, and Ymir’s wife Christa is good friends with one of the members of the Housing Association of this particular place. Reiner, her contact, has offered her a deal: if Marco and Jean are able to make a specific down payment by the end of the year, the place is theirs. 

 

The down payment is still a huge amount of money, though —it’s more money than Jean has ever put into one thing at one time ever. There’s not a lot of people for him to borrow from either; his mother already put him through college, he’s not going to make her buy him a home. He’s only just barely finished paying off loans for his botched attempt at grad school. 

 

“You’re worried about the price,” Marco says, looking up from the computer screen. 

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Well that’s why I was talking to Armin about this stuff. It’s gonna be tight for a while, but we can manage it. Getting the down payment in gets us the place, and then we'll work out the loans for the rest of it with Armin. If you’re willing, I mean. I’m not going to ask you to throw money into something you’re not as invested in as I am.”

 

And Jean can see how much Marco wants this —he knows him well enough now to see the hopeful tilt of his eyebrows, the excitement behind those brown eyes he adores. 

 

Even so… Jean studies his boyfriend’s face and knows he’d give it up if Jean says no. Regardless of his earlier acquiescence and its subsequent car-related act of debauchery, Jean could change his mind right now and Marco wouldn’t question it. That’s the kind of faith and trust Marco’s always put in him, and it makes him ache a little to think that Marco is always putting Jean ahead of himself. 

 

It’s time to pay it forward. It’s time to give Marco the best he’s got, the best gift he could possibly come up with.

 

“I said we’ll do it.” Jean stands up a little straighter. “It’s Christmas, right? I’ll be raking in sales commissions anyway. We can make it.”

 

Marco glows. For the first time, Jean thinks that maybe this whole Christmas thing might actually turn out awesome. 

 

-

 

Nope. 

 

This is pretty much the worst Christmas _ever_. 

 

Sales are down in the entire clothing department. Apparently getting dad a nice tie is no longer the default, and Jean finds himself increasingly frustrated with every consult that doesn’t turn into a sale. He’s getting by, but he could be doing better, and this year it actually really matters how much he can pull in. There’s Marco’s dream riding on it, not to mention a quality of living slightly above eating instant ramen every meal for the foreseeable future. 

 

Marco’s store isn’t doing a whole lot better, but he’s still positive they can make it. They’ve been extreme couponing in the grocery store and turned the heat down as low as they can stand it (which has been kind of awesome for their sex life, because Jean tends to run hot while Marco always has cold hands, and a chilly apartment is even more incentive to get very close very often).

 

But it’s harder than they expected. 

 

And on December 24th, on the way into work, Jean’s car, the car that has never once failed to get him where he needed to go, the car that smells like Marco’s aftershave long after he’s gotten out, the car that is and was Jean’s first love...it just stops in the middle of traffic on the way to work. 

 

It’s horrifying enough to have to be towed, and Jean is livid as he paces back and forth while waiting for the mechanic. He’s missing work. He’s losing time and money. He checks his watch ten times in 3 minutes and texts Marco repeatedly even though he knows Marco never carries his phone on the sales floor. 

 

He’s sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, arms folded across his and foot knee bouncing in agitation, when the mechanic finally comes back in. 

 

She doesn’t mince words.

 

“So your engine's shot,” she says, pushing her shop goggles up onto her grease-stained forehead. "Car that old, over 250,000 miles, it’s not worth replacing it.”

 

Jean blinks, not sure he’s heard her right. He stares at her, waiting for the punchline for a few more moments before coming up with “The fuck?”

 

She comes and sits down next to him, and Jean can see her coveralls have “Hanji” stitched across the breast.

 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but—”

 

“You have to be able to fix it,” he cuts her off. “That’s like...what you guys do. So do it? Now?”

 

She raises an eyebrow, but is remarkably unfazed by his rudeness.

 

“Yeah cars don’t work that way? See the problem you’ve got here is a head gasket broke—” And she starts rambling about particular car details, naming parts of the engine that Jean isn’t sure even exist, and he’s so disoriented and angry about the entire situation that he doesn’t even try to follow. But when she snaps back out of car jargon, he hears it loud and clear: “You’re looking at a full engine replacement, starting at $2000. And it’s just not worth it.” 

 

“But….” Jean struggles for words.

 

“I know,” Hanji nods sympathetically. 

 

“It’s my car,” he manages, stupidly.

 

“I know.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “I had a car when I was younger —Sawney— and that car, man I never-

 

“It’s my car.” He says it again, interrupting her a second time trying to convey to her that in truth it's _not_ just a car —it’s his baby, it’s his special place. It’s his prized possession.

 

It’s the only thing he’s ever loved almost as much as he loves Marco.

 

And oh, Marco.

 

Marco and their condo and Jean can’t spend $2000 on a new engine when he’s trying so desperately to save everything so that the only thing more precious than this car can have a fucking decent Christmas present from his shitty boyfriend for once. 

 

“Let me be completely honest with you.” Hanji’s voice is firm but kind. “I see you how you feel about this car. And it’s a good car. It’s been well loved and I can tell its been good to you. But it’s eighteen years old, and even with a new engine, you’d run a good chance of ending up back here with another problem sooner rather than later.  The power steering, the radiator, the transmission, they’ve all got the same high mileage and something else is gonna give. And  I’m willing to buy this car from you. There’s parts of it that I can use.” She half-smiles. “It’s kind of like organ donation. The parts will go on to heal others.” 

 

When Jean’s expression doesn’t change, she sighs. “Look, I’m gonna make you the best offer I can, and I want you to think about it, seriously.”

 

Jean loves his car.

 

Jean wants Marco to have that condo. 

 

“But it’s my  _ car _ ,” he says one more time, and starts to cry. 

 

-

 

Jean never makes it in to work. It’s absolutely shitty to call in sick after calling in late, but he can’t bear to pretend to deal with Christmas anymore after this. He texts Sasha and Armin to cancel lunch, and Sasha calls him in the midst of his long, painful goodbye to his car, patiently staying on the line while he swears and cries and gets snot all over the phone. 

 

He’s home now, sitting on the couch and staring at the little Christmas tree Marco puts up every year: he meticulously decorates on December 1st and ceremonially packs everything away on January 1st. The little rainbow lights are the only illumination in the room that's gone dark around Jean with the sun set. They twinkle through the glass of the empty beer bottle on the table, and Jean tips his second at the tree scornfully.

 

“Merry fucking Christmas.”

 

He takes a long drink, eyes the tree spitefully for another minute, and then just sighs. He huddles into the giant hoodie he stole from Marco’s side of the closet, closing his stinging eyes. 

 

He did the right thing. 

 

He knows he did. 

 

Hanji made him a fair offer and he took it, and it’ll be enough for his half of the down payment. They’ll have to start using the bus or walking to work, they’ll need to beg all their friends for help when they move, but it was what he needed to do. 

 

Because there really shouldn’t have been a choice at all between Marco’s happiness and his. 

 

Jean just hopes that when Marco gets home to find his boyfriend drunk and his favorite sweatshirt covered in mucus, he won’t be too mad. 

 

-

 

“Hey you.”

 

It’s still dark except for the tree when Jean opens his eyes, squinting to make features out of the Marco-shaped shadow above him. 

 

“Hey,” he mumbles, snuffling loudly. “What time is it?”

 

“It’s seven, sorry I’m late.” Marco reaches to turn on the lamp next to the couch. Jean recoils from the sudden brightness, blinking and rubbing his eyes. “I should have come home earlier, but I had to make a few stops.”

 

“It’s fine,” Jean sees that Marco is still wearing his coat. “Um.” He swallows. “Going somewhere?”

 

“No, I was just...I wanted to see you as soon as possible. I know you had a shitty day.”

 

“Yeah.” Jean clears his throat and looks away even as he squirms closer to Marco. “......I kind of hate Christmas.”

 

“I know,” Marco says, laughing gently, and pushing the hood back to kiss Jean's hair. “But I have a present for you, so suck it up just a little while longer.”

 

“No, I have a present for you,” Jean stubbornly pushes his face into Marco’s neck. “So there.”

 

“I’m going first because I’m sober.”

 

“I’m not not sober.”

 

“Yeah well, you’re also not not drunk, so whatever, I win.” Marco gently pries Jean off him, holding him out at arm’s length before reaching down to grab his messenger bag from where it sits on the floor. He pulls out what looks suspiciously like a banker’s envelope. “Merry Christmas, Jean.”

Jean takes the envelope and opens it with hands that shake only a little. It’s full of $20 bills. 

 

“...Marco?”

 

“You said the engine blew, right? I looked up how expensive that is.” He nods toward the envelope. “That should cover it, I think.”

 

“But…Marco…”

 

Marco chews on one side of his lip, the other quirking up in a smile. 

 

“I know you love that car, Jean. Sometimes I’m almost jealous because I think you might love it more than me. But it’s known you a lot longer than I have. So fix it, okay?”

 

All the nerves in Jean’s fingers fail. The envelope falls onto his lap.

 

“Jean?” Marco reaches for his hand. “Jean, what’s wrong?”

 

“I…” He stops, swallows, swallows again. “I sold the car. To Hanji, the mechanic. She said it wasn’t worth the cost and...so...so I sold it.” Jean forces himself to smile. “It’s just a car, right? And we’re trying to buy a condo. So the money I got from it should be enough...to…” Jean trails off as he notices Marco going pale.

 

“You sold your car.”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“It’s not a big deal, Marco.” Jean suddenly feels irritated. This is his moment of sacrifice, of giving, why does Marco look like he’s horrified? “It’s just a car.” When Marco still doesn’t respond and just stares across the room, he really starts to get pissed. “Marco, what the fuck?”

 

“I, uh.” Marco blinks rapidly, as though he’s trying to make sense of his own words. “I told them we couldn’t make the deal on the condo. That we needed the money for something else.” He rubs his finger under his nose distractedly, one of his few nervous tics. “I told Reiner to call it off and let it go to someone else.”

 

“You what.” Jean’s voice is flat. His whole body feels flat. 

 

Marco just shrugs, as if this isn’t actually a huge and enormous deal. 

 

“It’s just a condo, it’s not like this apartment is terrible. I mean, who knows, it probably would have been a bigger hassle than it was worth anyway.”

 

“You wanted it.” Jean can’t stand now that Marco isn’t looking at him, so he reaches out to physically turn his boyfriend’s head. Marco’s eyes remain downcast until he snaps at him. “Hey.” Those brown eyes are filled with tiny dots of colored light. It’s just from the tree, Jean knows that, but frankly Marco’s eyes have always been almost too amazing, too good to look straight into. “You wanted that condo.”

 

“I wanted,” Marco’s voice is a rasp, “A home. With you. And I have one.”

 

“It’s got a shitty kitchen and it’s like two degrees in here.”

 

“I don’t care.” Marco’s voice has a tremor in it now. “I just wanted to live somewhere with you. Somewhere nice, because you deserve a nice house. You work so hard and you take such good care of me, and your car—”

 

“Oh my god, Marco, shut up about the car!” Jean feels like punching him in his beautiful face and then kissing him senseless. “I never cared about a nice house!”

 

“But—”

 

“I wanted the fucking condo for you, because you’re the one who deserves a nice house! You’re the one who puts up with me every day of the year even when I’m kind of a fuck and I literally spend the entire month of December bitching about how much I hate a holiday you love. I’ve never given you anything decent for Christmas and I wanted you to have this thing that meant so much to you! For once I wanted to give you something back!”

 

“Jean.” Tears are spilling down Marco’s cheeks, slipping in between Jean’s fingers. “You gave me you.”

 

“Fuck you, that’s not a gift! That’s a weird...relationship obligation accident!”

 

“It is, though. Three years ago at Christmas, I met you. And it’s the best gift I ever could have gotten.”

 

“You are full of shit, Marco.” Jean is dangerously close to crying for what must be the 35th time that day. “And that’s one Christmas. Three fucking years ago.”

 

“But I’ve gotten you ever year since then.” Marco sniffles unattractively, and that only makes Jean want to hold him tighter. “Every Christmas, I’m with you. I don’t care if you don’t like it or you’re bad at giving gifts. All I ever wanted from the moment we met was you.”

 

This is unbearable. 

 

It’s Christmas Eve, and here they are, sitting on their couch crying at each other. There’s a hole where the dream of the condo was, big enough to drive a 1997 Volvo 850 through.

 

But for the first time, Jean feels like maybe, even if it wasn’t the gift he wanted Marco to have, even if it’s second hand, third hand, however many hands equal their years together, now and to come...he might finally have actually figured out what Marco really wants. 

 

It’s the same thing he wants, and it’s right here. 

 

-

 

“So.”

 

“So.” Jean picks a sausage off his piece of gas station-bought frozen pizza and glances at the clock. It’s just after midnight. “Merry Christmas, I guess.”

 

“Yup.” Marco reaches for his own beer bottle and gives a little salute to the tree and then to the TV, which is playing “The IT Crowd,” their mutual favorite show. “Merry Christmas.”

 

“We’ve got no car, and no condo.”

 

“But,” Marco says after a long pull, “We do have the money to pay to turn the heat back up. So there’s that.”

 

“Yeah, there’s that.”

 

“And we have some cash, so maybe we could like...buy bikes or something.”

 

“I don’t bike.”

 

“Okay, I’ll get a bike, and you get a skateboard, and I’ll pull you behind me.”

 

“I would literally rather take the bus and then have it run me over than do that.”

 

“That can be arranged if you’d like. Ymir knows people.”

 

“She would.”

 

It’s quiet for the next few minutes while they finish eating, and then Jean sets down his plate and snuggles into Marco’s side. His boyfriend puts an arm around his shoulders, thumb flicking at the well-loved fabric. 

 

“I know what that car meant to you,” Marco says finally, and Jean groans. 

 

“I said shut up, okay. I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“No, but… You think you’re subtle, but you’re not, Jean. The first time you actually put the keys in my hand, I knew really you loved me.”

 

Jean can feels himself blushing, and reaches up to pull the hood down further over his face. “Fuck. Off.”

 

“I’m just trying to tell you that I appreciate what you did, and I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

 

“Understood. You can stop now.”

 

“And like...I’m disappointed about the condo. But it’s true that we have a decent place to live and we’re together, and we have...a little extra money now.”

 

“Yeah.” Jean yawns. “We could maybe lease a used car or something. A newer used car.”

 

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

 

“I will be. Probably. Eventually.” Jean lets his eyes drift close. “There were a lot of feelings in that car. I tried to get them all out before I sold it.”

 

“Maybe we could pick out a car together. Have it be…’ours’ instead of just yours.”

 

“Hmmm,” Jean nestles further into Marco’s side, close enough to hear his heartbeat echo through his chest. “Yeah. Maybe we could do that.”

 

“It’s not a quite a condo.”

 

“It’s in no way like a condo, Marco.”

 

“I dunno, one of the things I was looking forward to most about a new place to live was breaking it in by having sex in new and exciting places.”

 

Jean’s eyes snap open and he pushes away from Marco to see his boyfriend smiling slyly. 

 

“But you know,” Marco continues nonchalantly, “We do have an awful lot of sex in cars. So a new car would be just as good.”

 

“Oh my god, Marco.” Jean grabs one of the pillows and starts to hit him with it. “Oh my god I can’t believe I want to give you nice things, you are the worst.”

 

“Your mouth says one thing, but your boner says different!” Marco laughs, shielding his head with his arm. When Jean pauses to breathe Marco grabs the pillow away and pins him to the couch, sliding on top of him in the way that had Jean melting three years ago and every day since. “Or instead of a car...maybe we could get rings. How would you feel about that?”

 

“Marco,” Jean’s face is hot, his body is hot, and he winds his arms tightly around Marco’s neck. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me you are never getting anything for Christmas ever again.”

 

“That is so mean,” Marco pouts, then kisses Jean so soundly that he’s still seeing Christmas lights behind his closed eyes. 

 

So maybe Christmas isn’t the worst, it’s just kind of… a thing. But it only happens once a year, and he can learn to deal with it. 

 

He gets Marco every day of the year, though. That seems like a pretty fair trade. 

**Author's Note:**

> -So [this](http://www.bdoutdoors.com/forums/attachments/cl1-97-volvo-850-glt-012-jpg.244842/) is essentially what Jean's car looks like. Volvos: they're boxy, but they're good. 
> 
> -From personal experience on the front lines of holiday retail, I can tell you that at this point I, like Jean, would rather listen to recordings of chainsaws than hear one more Christmas carol. Feel free to check out [Yid Vicious](http://www.yidvicious.com/) if you also feel the need for contrast!
> 
> -The title is based on the original lyrics to "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" from the musical "Meet Me in St. Louis:" 
> 
> Through the years we all will be together  
> If the fates allow  
> Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow
> 
> In 1957, Frank Sinatra wanted to put the song on his album and thought the last line didn't sound "jolly" enough, so they changed it to the now commonly recognized "hang a shining star upon the highest bough." I'm a fan of the first one, though. 
> 
> -To be honest, the title is as much about my struggle with writing as well as Jean's quest to get Marco the perfect gift. Because In spite of this being an exchange I willingly signed up for, this fic wouldn't even exist without the tireless support of [MonkeySocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks), [Feelslikefire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/feelslikefire/pseuds/feelslikefire), [Flecksofpoppy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy) and my woman [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), who have listened to me wail and cry over my writing for longer than anyone ever should. There are not enough words to thank them in the universe. 
> 
> And that's it. Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls- wait, that's a different story, sorry!
> 
> Happy JeanMarco Holidays, everyone. <3


End file.
